


Addiction

by hezza



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, Anne Hathaway - Freeform, Implied Cheating, Internal dialouge, M/M, PAIN AND AGONY, Smoking, oh god so much angst i'm so sorry, puppy, sads
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-05
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-28 11:07:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/991313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hezza/pseuds/hezza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Addiction is tricky. For example: a man who quit smoking for 11 years spent 15 seconds in an elevator with a man smoking a cigarette. He gave in.<br/>What I’m trying to say is I think I love you again.”</p><p>Or, Harry signs a contract and Nick gets let go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Addiction

**Author's Note:**

> hey so this is my first ever fic in 1D fandom and i'm a bit nervous about it so please be gentle. 
> 
> a million thank yous to anne marie & pandlewords for the cheerleading and moral support and to carswinky & singlestrand for their lovely beta work. any remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> addiction is based on the quote in the summary, i've seen it floating around tumblr many, many times but i've never been able to attribute it to a source. the beginning quote is from the first mirror article that came up when i googled "one direction contract."
> 
> this is dedicated to everyone who puts up with me on twitter, i'm so sorry. join in on the misery: @nicksfriend_

_“A spokesperson for SyCo said: "Simon Cowell and One Direction are delighted to confirm they have agreed to continue their hugely successful relationship with a new long-term agreement with Syco._

_“Simon and the band look forward to many years of continued success together. It will easily keep them busy until the end of 2015 and probably 2016 too.”_

 

Nick scans The Mirror article one, two, three times before he loses his nerve and closes the window. The weight of the world presses harsh against the inside of his ribcage so hard his vision blurs a bit and it’s at that point that maybe, Nick thinks, maybe he should breathe. Harry just left for Australia that goddamn morning- and when Harry’s done touring all over the world for good, Nick will be 32 years old. The thought makes his stomach twist.

Puppy gives him a worried look and tentatively pads over to him from her dog bed. She nudges her nose against the bare arch of Nick’s foot, concerned and wet and _ice fucking cold what the ever loving hell_ -

Nick quickly snaps his leg away from Puppy and her nose that’s essentially at freezing point, honestly. His leg pulls back, his knee jerks up, it collides with the bottom of his macbook which backflips in midair and tumbles to the floor with a loud thud and a probably embarrassing cry from Nick. His hand flies to his chest and he tries to suppress the wild heart jackhammering beneath his breastbone. His eyes squeeze shut and all he sees is black, comforting darkness blurring all around him until his heartbeat gradually eases off into a manageable rhythm.

While surrounded in the dark, Nick frantically makes a mental catalogue of events. White Queen of a dog. Laptop on the floor. Probably a terrible trip to the Apple Store. Fuckin’ hates the Apple Store. He’ll be 32 by the time Harry could possibly even- even what? Be his husband? Be the father of his kids? Be home more often than he’s gone? Be seen more than once or twice every eight months? Nick never planned on turning 30, content to continue celebrating anniversaries of being 29 forever, but those are the types of things he thought he’d have by the time his third 29th birthday rolled around, but Harry’s got three more years with One Direction. Harry signed up for that.

When Nick blinks his eyes open, he immediately wipes at the dampness under his eyes and over his cheeks. Of course Harry would stay with One Direction. He lets one exhausting breath out and he’s standing. 

His shaky legs take him around the laptop that lays abandoned on the floor and to the side table that still hides his pack of cigarettes and lighter—he lied to Harry about quitting a few months ago. On his way out, the sliding glass door stays open long enough for Puppy to trot through after him. He closes it slowly and murmurs, “Yeah, you can come out too, Anne bloody Hathaway.”

Nick’s mind is a blank slate during the first cigarette. He focuses intently on breathing the smoke in and the stress, the worry, and the number 32 out. Puppy refuses to run off, gravitating towards Nick’s body heat and curling up around his feet. They’re numbed and bare against the concrete but her cuddle warms them up a bit. Nick loves her quite a lot.

“I’m sorry for calling you Anne Hathaway.” He confides softly between drags, “It wasn’t funny and I apologize.”

She opts for starting to drool on his foot in lieu of a more eloquent response. He offers an olive branch by using the foot she’s not cuddled on to scratch behind her ears. His balance is off and he accidentally toes her in the back of the head, but whatever, it’s the thought that counts. She gives him an annoyed look but doesn’t move away. At least he’s got one person in his life that knows how to stay. Even if that person’s a dog. He lets out a bitter laugh, drops the pretense of catharsis, and lights his second cigarette.

It’s not like- It’s not like he didn’t know, is the thing.

Harry is an international pop sensation, beloved by millions. Every move this boy makes and every female he’s ever spoken to is scrutinized by major media outlets. After all, he’s a teen heartthrob who has charmed the pants off of the entire planet and Nick is just one of the millions to fall for his smile and warm heart and terrible chickenscratch tattoos. Nick tries to shake the thought out of his head and peers his out into his garden. He has a fucking garden. He has his dream job. He has a dog. He’s a grown man, how could he have been so stupid to think he was anything special? 

Maybe it was that one Sunday morning that fucked him over. They’d had a bit of a lie in, a rare morning where 5 am drifted by without Fuckin' Problems blaring through the quiet morning, telling Nick it was time for work or Harry being ordered to get his arse to the airport by bloody Marimba. Harry leaned in and nuzzled his nose into the sweet spot between Nick’s ear and his jaw. Hours of sleep hung on his every word, dragging it to a slower pace than normal. Nick could feel Harry’s lips spread into a wide smile, brushing rough against his morning stubble before Harry placed a warm, firm kiss right back in that sweet spot, Harry’s spot.

“There is no place I’d rather be than right here.” 

Nick believed him. He truly did. He would have sworn on a stack of bibles that the only place Harry ever wished to be was in bed with Nick, a tad too sweaty to be cuddling as close as they were. He would have sworn on a stack of Beyonce albums if that means a bit more to you.

Harry was so earnest, so careful with his words, there was absolutely no way it was a lie. Maybe Harry believed himself as well, but that- well, that doesn’t make it true. Idiots all over the world believe things that aren’t true. Some people believe global warming isn’t real. Try telling that to the penguins. Tell that to the mother fucking bloody Mirror journalist. The truth is there are a thousand places Harry would rather be and they’re all cities he’ll visit for a night. Luckily, he’ll be able to see his more treasured lovers when he’s whisked away for whatever ludicrous amount of world tours One Direction will manage to squeeze into the next three years. It’s not like he really expected that to just go away. After all according to the article, One Direction is on track to becoming the first billion dollar boy band.

Harry would have been stupid to not sign the contract. The whole lot of them would have to be absolutely daft not to, but Nick has seen Liam eat glue on a dare, so you can never be completely sure. He has seen the way Harry smiles after he’s performed in front of a million fans. It’s remarkably similar to the proud grin he wears after Nick laughs particularly loudly at one of Harry Styles’ Trademark Awful Puns. So. There’s that. He’s lost track of the time and number of cigarettes at this point- could figure it out with the amount left in the pack, but fuck maths, honestly.

Maybe it’s karma for all those numbers written in ballpoint pen he’s washed off his hand the morning after. He’s turned enough pretty boys back onto the dance floor after handies in the mens with nothing more than a kiss on the cheek to deserve this. He sniffs, the cold air surrounding him caving in. It makes sense that he’s karmically fucked. For all he talked about his deep desire for a real, grown-up boyfriend and a country house and lazy Sundays and stupid dumb commitment, it makes sense that the person he wants to share all that with is Harry, the one person he absolutely on no uncertain terms can not have that with. Maybe Nick’s tricked himself for long enough. They had a good run, kept the rouse going. They managed to fool the whole world (even if they couldn’t manage to pull that “just mates” shit on London). It’s impressive. 

It’s possible this contract was it. The final nail in the coffin. After the failed break during the US leg, after the shit Nick pulled with Nicco and Matt and Lucas and Jake and RJ… eventually, everyone has to make a choice. Harry chose One Direction. Nick doesn’t blame him for that, god, he could never blame Harry for that- but Nick can’t be blamed for not being able to wait until he’s practically ancient to start his life. Nick didn’t sign up for that. Nick didn’t sign shit. 

There’s nothing he hates more than waking up in an empty bed, the comforting scents of “there’s no place I’d rather be than right here” long since replaced with spring meadow or gentle fucking in a rainforest or whatever the scent his off-brand detergent is. Nick can’t handle that being the routine every day until he’s 32. At 32, he he always imagined he'd be an actual, proper adult in a real relationship. He wants his long-term boyfriend or fiance to have his house key and spend more time in his flat than he ever does in his own. He wants to come home after The Breakfast Show to a naked boy he loves more than anything still snoozing in his bed, sheets rucked up around his hips. He idly acknowledges that in his daydreams, the back belongs to Harry and the arm draped around the pillow is littered with terrible ink. More than a few of the tattoos are about Nick.

He closes his eyes slowly when the truth, the moral of the fucking story, washes over him. He wants that kind of commitment more than he wants the boy he’s currently committed to. And that’d be fine if he could have both.

When Nick goes to take another fag out of the pack, it’s empty. His nervous fingers thrum with potential energy. At some point, Puppy has abandoned Nick’s sorry arse out on the patio in favor of the warmth of her bed. As the resonating pressure of being alone settles uncomfortably in his gut, he pulls out his phone and sends three texts.

“things are happening. i’m gonna be a right mess tomorrow. so sorry that you’ll have to deal with me, i really really love you x” 

“congrats on the new contract. i think we need to talk love. xx” 

“when are you in london next?? miss u nicco :P x”

The comfort of nicotine slowly fades away, leaving Nick standing cold and alone in his bloody garden. By the time he ventures back into the warmth of his home, Puppy has- oh fuck, of course she has pissed all over his macbook since he neglected to pick it up. That’s just great is what that is. He probably deserves that. He probably deserves all of this, honestly.

Nicco’s response is the first to light up his cell phone, so Nick opts to check the text before dealing with the crisis of his defiled laptop. He just cannot be fucked at this point. “That Anne Hathaway son of a bitch,” he thinks, thumbing over his message inbox. Apparently, Nicco has been back in London for a few days now, Nick’s just been otherwise occupied the last week: cuddling, drinking himself stupid on wine, letting Puppy use Harry’s shoes as chew toys and saying goodbyes that he had no idea were for good. Nicco offers to swing by if Nick misses him that much. Nick quickly taps out his response and it doesn’t say yes, but it absolutely doesn’t say no.

He definitely deserves this.


End file.
